


Paralysed

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: Drugs, Gay Marriage, M/M, Murder, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Brad proposes I'm just thinking about the mud he's trailed through the house on his way in. Don’t get me wrong, I love Brad, but sometimes he needs to sort out his priorities</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paralysed

**Author's Note:**

> How could a fist fight be romantic?

I’m doing ninety when they pull me over. I roll down my window and smile politely, “Can I help you officer.”

He stares blankly and pulls his notebook from his pocket, “Could you step out of the car please, sir?”

I do, and let him frisk me for any weapons. I let him ask me when the last time I had a drink was.

“Could you walk the line and count backwards from one hundred please?”

I do, and walk with one foot in front of the other, cat walk model style, down the line on the road. Times like this, Brad’s smart mouth would get me in a shit load of trouble.

But I sound proofed the trunk.

***

Brad gets down on one knee and holds open a black ring box, a platinum ring shining inside like a pearl. He says, “Will you marry me?” His voice all full of hope and vulnerability.

I can’t even smile, that’s how pissed I am. I can’t even say anything because all I’m looking at are the muddy boot prints he’s tracked through the house. He’s so fucking selfish sometimes. So when I say, “Sure,” all I’m thinking about is disinfectant and scrubbing brushes.

Brad jumps to his feet and wraps his arms around me, kissing my neck and telling me how happy I make him. And I’m thinking about how much carpet cleaner is left in the bottle under the kitchen sink. Don’t get me wrong, I love Brad, but sometimes he needs to sort out his priorities.

Things are always this way, so I don’t know why I’m even mildly surprised. Once he’s done hugging me and laughing I fill a bucket of water and scrub the floor clean until my hands bleed.

***

Brad runs around like crazy to organise the wedding. I write out the invitations. Slow, deliberate strokes in gold ink. I can think of worse things I could do with my life than get married, but I can think of a thousand better things too.

Brad says, “What flowers do you want?”

None, my allergies will flare up. And, really, I’m already going to look bad enough wearing a penguin suit and a big Ken-doll smile. I don’t need a bright red nose and watery eyes to match. I shrug, and write my name on the bottom of the invitation I have in my hand.

“Don’t you care?”

“I’m allergic.”

“To what? Flowers or helping my plan our god damn wedding?”

Both, apparently, because the headache flaring up behind my eyes is unbearable all of a sudden. So I pile all the invitations up and grab my pen, heading upstairs to get away from him.

***

Brad starts arguing with me more and more. Stupid shit; I don’t spend enough time with him, I don’t love him, whatever. I argue back, don’t think I just stand there and take his whiny emotional bullshit.

“Didn’t you ever think maybe you were smothering me?”

“I don’t fucking smother you! You keep your distance so much it’d be impossible to smother you!”

I just roll my eyes and roll away. I’m not in the mood for this crap. I’m having a bad hair day, and nobody has cleaned the bathroom yet. “Look,” I say, “I’m sorry. You want to fuck? Let’s fuck.”

Brad sighs wearily, “I don’t want to fuck.”

“Then what the hell do you want from me? Because I have shit I could be doing.”

“Then go do it,” Brad says, and disappears into the garden.

***

I wake up to hands gripping my wrists tight and hips grinding into mine. I struggle hard, Brad’s face hovering above me. His eyes are dark and he grins, “Thought we’d make love. You know, the night before our wedding. Since it’s been months since you’ve even kissed me.”

Why don’t I want this? Let me count the ways. “What the fuck, Brad? Get the hell off me.”

“Why?” He groans, grinding down against me, “Am I smothering you.”

I can’t breathe. Whether it’s the fear or his hand on my throat, I don’t know. I want to say yes, I want to push him off but I can’t. I lie there, frozen. I guess the term is ‘rape’ but Brad will tell you it was love making.

And all I can think when I start to bleed is; that’s going to stain.

***

Did you know that the only country in which Rohypnol is available for medical use is Mexico? Did you know that all issues with trafficking the drug into the USA are related to Mexico? Did you know that people sell it along with Heroin to ease withdrawal; with cocaine and amphetamines to soften the crash?

Did you know four roofies costs a buck if you find the right dealer? And that dealer will tell you the best way to use them?

Did you know that dissolving them into somebody’s drink is the best way to knock them out if it’s a sex crime you’re about to commit?

Did you know that putting them in someone’s champagne at their own wedding can knock them out long enough for you to bind their wrists and ankles with electrical tape?

Did you know that one strip over the mouth isn’t enough to shut up even a drugged victim, and that it takes at least three for them to stop trying to shout all together?

***

“Thank you for your time, sir.” The officer says with a smile and heads back to his car.

I wait for him to leave before climbing back behind the wheel and gunning the engine, and carrying on the long drive to the river.


End file.
